


The Things They Say

by Scatterbrain_Emporium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Family, Hogwarts, M/M, Quidditch, Reflection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scatterbrain_Emporium/pseuds/Scatterbrain_Emporium
Summary: So many things have been said about them since they were children. Things about who they are. What they do. Things people simply assume is the truth.But nothing is ever as simple.The truth is they won't let the things they say define them.Not anymore.





	1. Marcus

**Chapter One -** **Marcus**

 

They said he was stupid.

 

They also said things like “ you used to be such a smart child” and “ what happened to you, you used to be so brilliant!”

 

They would sometimes add phrases like “must be all the quidditch he plays”, “ too many bludgers to the head”, and his favourite; “ Well not every child learns at the same pace I suppose.”

 

The truth was that he had gotten smarter in a different way.

 

He’d gotten smarter at playing stupid.

 

Unsurprisingly, though still hurtful, no one suspected a thing. No one ever questioned him.

 

He had also gotten smarter at lying.

 

About everything. It was almost second nature now, just like breathing and eating.

 

It didn’t start like that of course, it started innocently enough with pretending to stop reading and studying.

 

He saw the disappointment in his mother’s eyes, the disapproval in his father’s, but all of this was better than the alternative. Better than what his parents had in mind for him.

 

He had heard them one evening and knew he needed to do something.

 

So he kept on failing. Barely finishing homework, never doing the assigned readings, and flunking exams.

 

He could see the way the teachers looked at him too.

 

A failure.

 

But that again was better than the alternative.

 

When it was official that he was returning to Hogwarts to redo his seventh year, it was worth what felt like hours of torture his father put his through.

 

Hogwarts was a haven.

Hogwarts was safe

Hogwarts was time.

 

Borrowed time, but still time for him to try and find a solution.

 

He wasn’t a Slytherin for no reason, he was cunning and resourceful, and he had a whole year to figure out something. It should be enough.

 

Please let it be enough.

 

His father had made it quite clear what would happen to him if he didn’t succeed this time with reasonable grades.

 

Although he constantly thought about it, above everything else he was happy to return to the pitch.

 

To fly around, to play and hear the crowd roar around him as the wind hits his face and the adrenaline rushes in.

 

Over the summer Professor Snape had assure him he would keep his position as captain if in exchange he would make an effort in his potion class, and this simple statement had been the small light he had hold on to for the duration of his stay with his parents.

 

Quidditch, and just flying in general, had been his solace over the years at Flint Manor.

 

When he was younger, he loved to imagine that if he flew high enough on his small broom he could touch the sky and escape among the stars. Now, years later, he would go out onto the large stretch of lawn on the estate ground and fly for hours, until the sun was settling down and he could barely see anything anymore. He would play imaginary games against invisible opponents, and plan new tactics for the upcoming season.

 

He would avoid spending as much time as he possibly could with his parents, making an appearance only for the mandatory dinner. He would grab breakfast in his room, or a quick bite in the kitchen before disappearing for the day.

 

He’d pack his school bag with some snacks and a book, grab his broom and fly to the pond at the edge of their estate. He would fly around there, read, or sometimes, on extremely hot days, just lounged around on the grass under the large weeping willow. It was a bit harder to escape on rainy days, but he would climb up to the dusty, unused attic of the east wing and spend the day there. He found the abandoned wooden door years ago, and had slowly started to bring things in to accommodate himself.

 

Solitude never bothered him, being an only child got him used to it, but a small part of him would sometimes crawl up to the surface and wish he had someone to share in some of the burden. To talk to when things would get too heavy.

 

He never was a social kid. He was shy by nature, even if today no one could tell, and it took his years to finally trust two students enough to call them friends.

 

Adrian and Terence were probably what he would call his best friends. They were Slytherins, both pureblood and from rich and powerful families. By definition, they filled all the requirements for his parents to tolerate them. On summer days, he would invite them over and his parents would rarely oppose it, his father letting out an uncommitted “mmh” when he would ask them for permission.

 

They would never discuss anything too heavy or compromising when they came over. Flint Manor had many ears too eager to speak.

 

When they would come over, conversations were limited to quidditch, school and safe enough things they had read in _The Daily Prophet._ The important conversations were kept for their dorm.

 

In the dead of night, when non of them could really sleep, they would talk in hushed voices about the future and what role their parents wanted them to play in the grand scheme of things. It took them all a long time to be honest with each other. They would dance around subject, saying ambiguous statements to see where the others stand on a certain issue. Terence, in the middle of a comfortable silence had been the one dropping the act and go straight to the point.

 

“ I don’t really care about blood,” he had said.

 

Marcus and Adrian had turned their head toward him in confusion. Adrian had asked what he meant by that.

 

“ I just… You know, what our parents keeps on drilling in our minds since we can walk… It seems so fake… and wrong…”

 

The silence had dragged on after that statement, heavy with the weight of their thoughts. Someone had finally said what he had been thinking, and he felt lighter in that moment then he ever did.

 

“ Yeah… I get it… I feel like that too…” Adrian had said, looking over at him.

 

He nodded, locking eyes with his two best friends. The weight lifted a bit more when they gave him a half smile back.

 

He had never considered himself as a defender of wizard’s rights, but he truly couldn’t understand why his family, and other old ones, was so obsessed with blood purity. He couldn’t care less what lineage a wizard or witch was as long as they were half decent and not a complete idiot. That opinion he kept buried deep inside him when he was around his parents and their circle of friends.

 

He still remembered as if it was yesterday, his flesh overrun by phantom pain every time he would thing too much about it. It was after he had come back from Hogwarts for Christmas on his first year. He had asked his mother what was so wring about people who had one or both parents as muggleborn. He had seen one very clever girl in his class who would nail all her spell and he father was a muggle. There was others too who were smart and weren’t pureblood, surely it had to count for something no?

 

The sour look that contorted his mother’s delicate and stony feature told him right away he had said something wrong. The loud clang of silverware on porcelain plate from the other side of the long oak table simply confirmed it.

 

He didn’t sleep at all that night.

 

In the darkness of his room, under the moon and stars weakly shining through he promised he wouldn’t let that happen again.

 

In the dark of the night he made a pack to never become his parents.

 

So from that day on he stopped being a good student. He stopped being himself. He came back to Hogwarts after Christmas and did the bare minimum. Pretended not to care about lessons or anything at all for that matter.

 

They said he was a disappointment.

 

“ What are we going to do with you Marcus…”

 

“ You used to be a smart boy! You are ruining our name!”  
  
“ Such an embarrassment…”

 

They said he would do nothing worthy of his life.

 

And he took it all in. Never flinching, never surrendering.

 

All the hate, the glares, the cold comments and abuse. All of it he shouldered it, and killed who he was for this new Marcus Flint. A Marcus Flint that didn’t care for school, that didn’t talk with anyone and sneered at them for getting too close. A sour, stereotypical Slytherin shell of himself.

 

Adrian asked him once why he was going through so much trouble to be someone else. Him and Terence were the only ones who really had gotten to see his soft side as they called it. They’d been drinking by the great lake one night, a stolen bottle of Firewhiskey doing rounds between the three of them. They had sneaked out of the dungeons to a hidden spot they liked and were watching the stars mirroring on the water surface.

 

The lie he keeps on telling himself now is that he was taken by surprise and slightly tipsy, which is why he had actually answered truthfully instead of telling him to fuck off. The truth was that it felt good to share with someone. If lifted the weights of his shoulders for a fraction of a second.

 

He told them that he didn’t care about what they said and did to him. That it all didn’t matter because he would make that choice over and over again if he had to.

 

Because it was way better than the alternative.

 

Better than the plan his parents had for him.

 

For he preferred to be called a dumb troll, a snake, a disappointment and failure, than join the ranks of purebloods stupidly waiting for You-Know-Who’s return. To become a Death Eater like his father had been, though no real proof had ever seen the light of day, to join in some unforgivable crime and hate group, and all for what?

 

His parents said blood was everything.

 

For Marcus, it was just another liquid. The fact that he was sharing some of it with his parents certainly didn’t define him. And he certainly wouldn’t let it.

 

No matter the things they say.


	2. Chapter 2: Oliver

**Chapter Two - Oliver**

 

They said he was a bit of a strange kid.

 

They said that he was peculiar, to put it nicely in front of his parents.

 

That maybe he needed a hobby to help him focus all that energy he never seems to run out of.

 

He was like a battery always at maximum capacity. He would run around the house all day without missing a beat, playing imaginary games with invisible friends.

 

He would use his mother’s cat as his companion and his father’s hat, as he pretended to be an adventurer, exploring the small woods behind their stone home in Scotland. He would come back at sundown, covered in mud and cuts, grinning wildly and holding onto poor Archimedes whose white fur had turned a dirty grey. His mother half-heartedly scowled at him as she cleaned his face and he would tell her all about his adventures, the restless energy never leaving him. She would eventually admit defeat and kiss his now scrubbed clean nose tenderly.

 

“ You are trouble Ollie…” She would say.

 

His mother was a muggle and was the first one who noticed his lack of focus and endless energy as maybe what the muggles called AD/HD. His father said it was simply that he was born like that. He never had anyone confirmed nor denied that it was something else than the way he was. So he just shrugged it off like everything else.

 

Still, they agreed that he needed to find something to capture his attention long enough to keep him focused on a task, and that the same time active enough so he would be burning some energy.

 

The following week he was signed up into a quidditch class for children.

 

His father had said that it was perfect for him. And his father was never wrong.

 

That afternoon, he found himself on the pitch with other magical children, holding in his tiny hands his brand new broom and wearing his new clothes.

 

He liked quidditch, his father had taken him two times to see a match, it was just that he would get bored watching. He wanted to be part of it, not observing.

 

When he first got up on his broom and lifted off the ground, he knew right away this was something else entirely.

 

He was eight but he knew he never wanted to touch the ground again. If he could stay in the air forever he would be more than ok with it. He wanted to fly closer to the sun, to bask in it as the air tangled in his short brown locks.

 

His father had to threaten him with no dessert for a week if he didn’t come back down this instant after he was still flying around an hour after the class was over.

 

His parents said that since that day he had never been the same.

 

He read all the books related to quidditch his father owned the next day.

 

“A book Andy! He read an entire book! He sat down and read it cover to cover!” His mother had exclaimed.

 

He also couldn’t think of anything else, all his waking hours were spent flying around and talking about it, and on weekends practicing with his father who had built three hoops in their backyard for him to train his keeper’s position. His mother had to beg him to come inside and eat during the day, and even then he would wolf down his lunch, kiss her on the cheek and head back outside. He couldn’t really remember his dreams, but he was sure they were filled with quidditch.  


 

His coach had said to his parents, after two months of class, that he was a natural at it. That he wouldn’t be surprise if one day he played professionally. That was exactly was he wanted to do. He would become the best keeper the league had ever seen.

His parents didn’t seem too thrilled at his new career goal, but they both were supportive and made sure he was well equipped to play properly.

 

For him, quidditch wasn’t just a hobby or a game; it was his whole life, his universe. It was a gulp of fresh air after being underwater for too long.

 

When he was up there, his brain would shut up and he could focus, as if someone had lit a fire in a dark room. He could focus so clearly, it scared him sometimes. Was it how everyone felt on a regular basis? If only he could focus like that on his schoolwork, his father would be happy. Not that he ever said anything, to the contrary he was his number one fan, but he knew he would like him to work more on his assignments.

 

He tried really hard to make him proud and happy when he started at Hogwarts, breaking his head over long hours of homework and papers. Thank the Lord his new friend Percy was really good at that stuff.

 

They had met at the Gryffindor table, sitting next to each other. Percy had been the only one around who didn’t seem to mind so much his babbling and enthusiasm. They had been friends ever since, and Percy was always helping him with homework when he saw how much trouble he was having with them. They completed each other well, and it worked for the remaining of the year.

When second year came around though he knew it was his chance. It was what he was born to do. As soon as he saw the notice in the common room stating that there was going to be tryouts for some positions on the Quidditch team, he couldn’t write his name fast enough on the paper. He was only twelve but he was tall for his age, having gained a few inches during the summer. He was ready.

 

On the day of the tryouts, he stepped on the field with his broom in hand, with the calm of a veteran playing in his 500th match. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stepped forward when his name was called. He hadn’t missed one save that day.

 

“ You’re truly something else Wood,” Charlie had said to him.

 

And right at this instant he was soaring.

 

Soaring so high he could feel the stars at the tip of his fingers. He was invincible nothing could touch him.

 

Except maybe that bludger on his first game.

 

That brought him back down to earth fast.

 

Literally.

 

He didn’t remember a lot after that. He was falling and falling, and he thought he heard screams, but it suddenly went black.

 

He woke up a week later in the hospital wing.

 

He had opened his eyes slowly, and had seen the blurry faces of his worried parents shift to relief.

 

Everything hurt.

 

His head was bounding like a drum, reverberating down his spine and through every bones of his body. Still, through the pain and furry brain only one though occupied his mind.

 

Had they won? Had they lost because of him?

 

He must have croaked those questions out loud by the look his mother gave him.

 

It was important he needed to know. He needed to know that he hadn’t left his team down, that he hadn’t failed them. That he hadn’t destroyed his chances before it even really started.

 

His parents had said that he was crazy. That he shouldn’t even worry about this for now. That he should only concentrate on getting better.

 

It seemed perfectly normal to him. He needed to know, it was important to him and they just couldn’t see it. They just didn’t get it.

 

No one really did.

 

Except for that boy with the cold stormy eyes.

 

That Slytherin boy he would always see on the pitch, no matter the time of day, whether it was early morning before the sun was up or late at night when the moon was starting to appear.

 

They never really talked, the only response he ever got from the other boy was a glare or on some exceptional days, a sneer. Although they never talked, or even flew together, he would watch him dive and twist around the field and right away knew it was someone who appreciated the game as much as he did. Or at least closer than anyone he had met.

  


They played against each other many times after that. He had learned his name was Marcus, and their non-existing relationship quickly shifted when they became captains of their team to outright hatred. He never really knew what it was.

 

He kept on thinking that if it wasn’t for their houses, they could have been friends. In another life perhaps.

 

Percy had said that he must be insane.

 

“ You? Friend with that troll?? Seriously Ollie, you must be mad!”

 

Maybe he was.

 

He was a dirty cheater and a bully who only seemed to want to make his life a living hell. He also definitely wasn’t the brightest at school, not that he was a genius either, but seriously to be the first one to retake a year?

 

Everyone said he was dumb as a troll.

 

And yet.

  


He couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something else there. Something a lot more complicated than what people saw.  


 

In fact, he didn’t care about the things they all said.

 

About Flint, About him, about how strange or obsessive he was, about his life, his grades. About anything.

 

Since he was a kid, quidditch had been all he could think about. It was the only thing that made him feel whole. To fly professionally and to play in front of a crowd cheering for him, that was what he lived for. That was the only thing he could ever imagine himself doing.

 

And that was exactly what he was going to do.

 

No matter the things they all say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry that this took a lot longer than I expected! School started again and life won over everything! I'm already working on the next chapters, so hopefully this won't take as long!
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is up and I hope you guys enjoy it! Hopefully the rest will follow shorty after if creativity wills it!
> 
> (Unbeta'd also so excuse me if any mistakes slipped through my tired eyes!)
> 
>  
> 
> You can always follow me at scatterbrainemporium.tumblr.com where I'll also be posting some of my writing!
> 
> Cheers!


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